Stars
by Michy Drarry Shipper
Summary: "He is the youngest. He doesn't have to work quite as hard as you to gain recognition, though, because he is from the noble House of Black. One of the stars." Angsty Barty/Reg for Amber.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own Harry Potter.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Swearing, mentions of torture and sexual references

**Dedication:** Written for Amber aka Cheeky Slytherin Lass, as part of the _Gift Giving Extravaganza_. She is an amazing writer, and she made me ship Barty/Regulus. I hope you like this :)

* * *

You are a servant of the Dark Lord. One of his most faithful. The day you took the Mark was the happiest of your life. It was the start of your new life, the life you had chosen. You believe in your cause with all your being and you swear to see it through until the very end.

You want to be the Dark Lord's number one, but it's not that simple. Actions speak louder than words, and you prove your unwavering loyalty time and time again by volunteering for the riskiest of missions. But you are one of the youngest. And unlike Bellatrix, arguably the Dark Lord's favourite, you don't have the support of your family.

You are alone. Alone in your pain. When the flames from your wand that cremated a family of blood traitors burn behind your eyelids at night, you must smother them yourself. Alone in your fury. When your father's hypocrisy claws at your skin, you find release in ripping ragged screams from the filthy Mudbloods within your grasp. (And so the vicious cycle perpetuates). But you are also alone in your glory. There is no one to steal your limelight, no one to sponge off your achievements. It is a fair trade off, you suppose. Sometimes, though, you wish the balance would tip.

* * *

He is the youngest. He doesn't have to work quite as hard as you to gain recognition, though, because he is from the noble House of Black. One of the _stars_. He certainly shows potential to move through the ranks quickly. He is sharp and efficient, and emanates the haughty aura characteristic of Purebloods raised to be confident in their superiority.

You are paired together for his first terror expedition. You don your ebony cloaks and haunting, ivory masks and Apparate to your target's house. It is silent, save for the chirping of crickets and the faint gurgling of a river. The cottage is dark, its occupants evidently asleep. You walk up to the door, breaking down the wards one spell at a time, the moon lighting your path. Your companion seems hesitant, his stride stilted, and you pause before disarming the final protections.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

You can't see his face, but you know he is probably scared. You can't go back now, though. You have a job to do. The Dark Lord is relying on you, and you will not fail him.

* * *

When the Aurors are lying motionless on the pavement, shrouded by the smoke from the smouldering ruins of their house, you return to his home. He takes off his mask and robe and collapses back onto the sitting room lounge, dropping his pale face into his hands, body trembling.

"You did well," you say.

He looks up, eyes wide. "Thank – thank you," he whispers.

You shift from foot to foot uncomfortably, stuffing your hands into your robes. You have been ordered to stay at Grimmauld Place for the next week, to make co-ordinating the upcoming missions easier. You know where your room is, but you're not tired. Far from it. Your body is still buzzing with adrenaline and you can't help but fidget, feeling claustrophobic in the ancient room.

"Are you okay?"

It is your turn to be surprised. "Yes. I'm just… restless."

He stands up and motions for you to follow. He leads you up the staircase, to one of the highest floors. He opens one of the doors, you walk through a bedroom and suddenly, you are on a balcony, out in the open air again. You inhale deeply. The night is clear, sprinkled with star dust. You sit on a reclined sun chair and gaze and at the sky. He takes the one next to you, and the silence is peaceful.

* * *

You watch him. You watch everyone, memorising their mannerisms, studying their reactions, it's just what you do. They are puzzles, problems to solve. But with him, it's different. He is art.

Voice stirring molten gold in your chest. Quick sand eyes. Hypnotically sleek movements. You need to know more.

* * *

**BCJRBBCJRBBCJRB**

* * *

You don't know how to feel. Growing up in a conservative Pureblood family did not exactly equip you with the skills necessary for dealing with your emotions. Everything gets wound up inside, hidden from the world, and often from yourself. But it always bubbles up to the surface eventually. You're like a cauldron at boiling point, struggling to push off the lid, the pressure within building dangerously.

Your parents are blood purity fanatics to the core and they have instilled in you, often forcefully, the same ideology. Once Bellatrix committed herself to the Dark Lord, it was only a matter of time before you were _encouraged_ to do the same. You had heard the whispers concerning this dark wizard, famed to be one of the most powerful in known history, ever since you were a child. You must admit that you were drawn to such legend, but when the time came for you to take the Mark, forever bounding you to His service, and you knelt before the one whose name you dared not speak, it was only fear, not the promise of glory, that held you in place.

Your branding is hideous, and once you first look at it in privacy, the magnitude of your choice bears heavily upon you. But had it really been a choice at all? If you had refused to become a Death Eater, you would have been disowned. You might have even been killed for your disloyalty. Such excuses assuage your disease initially. But then, your brother hovers in your vision. He didn't take the easy option. He risked everything to stand up for what he believed in. You push the thought away angrily. You aren't Sirius. You aren't reckless and you aren't brave and you aren't selfless. Quite the opposite. So you stick with the path you have chosen. The path on the opposite side of this war.

* * *

Intelligence gathering is easy. You like blending into the shadows, tailing people, using your charms prowess to listen to classified conversations. The Dark Lord is pleased with your work and you are deemed competent enough to participate in riskier assignments – terror missions. You are partnered with the son of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Although such linage might make the other Death Eaters suspicious of him, his conduct on that night leaves no doubt in your mind that he is faithful to the Dark Lord.

You had known that it wouldn't be easy, but nothing could have properly prepared you for just how hard it was to actually kill people. _Murderer_. That's what you are. You force yourself to become numb to it all. But you don't know how much longer you can block it out.

* * *

He seems to be everywhere you look. You are partnered together for all your missions now. It's like you are with two different people, though. While you are on task, he takes charge, wand steady, face resolved. In the interims, he shrinks back, jittery and impatient. But you feel him watching, always watching, from the corners of his eyes.

* * *

It's dusk and you are crouched in the long grass, on a hill overlooking a suspected Order of the Phoenix member's house. You've watched for a couple of hours now, and haven't seen any signs of life. You won't be relieved for another hour and you are starting to get bored. Waiting around doesn't suit him either. He fiddles with the grass and his robes and scratches at his stubbly chin, eyes skittish, lips twitchy.

"Can't you keep still?"

His hand freezes on his face and his eyes slide to yours. "Not really."

"Why not?"

He maintains eye contact a moment longer, then drops his gaze back to the ground, where he starts picking at leaves, before shrugging.

"You're very quiet, you know."

He makes a half amused sort of noise in the back of his throat. "Yes, thank you, I am aware. You're not exactly a loquacious creature yourself."

You haven't heard him speak so much in the few weeks that you've worked together combined, and you find you want to make him talk more. "I just wasn't sure what to say."

"Tell me about you."

"I'd rather not. I'm really very boring."

He frowns. "No you're not."

"But I am."

"Liar. You just don't want to talk to me." He sounds serious, but he refuses to look up, concentrating on plucking and shredding the ground cover around him, fingers busy, eyes narrowed.

"What do you want to know about me, then?"

His hands don't stop – if anything, they pick up pace. "Everything."

Usually, when gaining new acquaintances, the proper thing to do would be to mention your family background. But he's not exactly an acquaintance, and you are sure he is already aware of your heritage. Besides, you want to share something personal about yourself. It's not often that people are interested in you as an individual, rather than as merely a member of a noble Pureblood family.

"I was in Slytherin. I played Seeker… I like Charms. And astronomy. The effect of being born into a family in which everyone is named after stars, I suppose."

You sigh inwardly. There's your family again.

"Go on."

You hesitate. What else is there to tell? "I don't know what else to say."

He makes a tutting sound and goes back to ignoring you.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything about you?"

He doesn't respond, and starts shifting further away to retrieve more leaves to play with.

"Hello?"

No response. He's founds some twigs, which he begins snapping piece by piece.

"Barty!"

He drops everything. Your eyes lock. "Yes?"

You forget whatever it was you were trying to say. It's as if this is the first time he has actually looked at you, and you at him. It feels like he can see right inside of you and you stare, transfixed, his hazel eyes pining you in place.

"You want to know about me?"

You manage to nod. He sighs, dropping his gaze, and you let out a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding.

"You don't want to know me, Regulus," he whispers.

"I do."

He holds you again with those piercing eyes and chews the inside of his mouth. "I'm fucked up."

You would laugh if it wasn't for his grim expression. "Aren't we all?"

"Not you."

You have no idea why he would think that you're the exception. "You don't know me."

"But I want to," he insists, leaning forward, eyes alight.

"I want to know you, too," you reply.

"Why?"

"I just do."

He crosses his arms and stares out over the darkening field and the house below. "Fine."

He is so quiet, that you aren't sure if you only imagined the response. "I'm sorry?"

He turns back to you. "I'll let you know me if you let me know you."

You feel strangely triumphant. "Okay."

* * *

**BCJRBBCJRBBCJRB**

* * *

He is more amazing than you could have ever imagined. You don't linger on your missions anymore, you finish off your targets as quickly as possible, so that you can go back to his home sooner. The Dark Lord assigns you both to a travelling assignment and you are thrilled. Although Grimmauld Place is large, even when his overbearing parents are out of the way, you feel like you are being watched. Regulus doesn't mind his house elf's presence, but you are both weary of the portraits.

The first time you kiss, you are in a cabin in Scotland. There are two rooms, but he shyly asks if he can stay in yours. You sit side by side on the bed, feeling the heat between you crackle like the fire in the hearth. He shrugs off his cloak and shoes and you do the same, drinking in the lines of his shoulders and neck like sweet Butterbeer. He catches your eyes and licks his lips. Despite the ache in you that screams for you to reach out, he is the one that closes the gap. He leans in to you, wrapping an arm around your body, pressing his mouth over yours. You inhale sharply through your nose, then give in, pulling him firmly against your chest. It's like fireworks and the shock waves reverberate from head to toe. You taste him hungrily, as if your very life depends on this kiss. And for you, it does. You know then, with absolute certainty, that he must be yours, and only yours, forever. You need him and you want him to need you just as much.

* * *

The weeks flash by. Your addiction to Regulus Black only strengthens, reinforced with every touch, glance, taste. You stay awake at night, resenting the way sleep hides him from your view. You run your fingers through his silky hair. He doesn't toss around like you, just lies there on his side, legs curled up, arms hugging his chest. You stroke his face, serene as an angel. He is beautiful. So beautiful that it hurts.

The morning after you have sex for the first time, you wake to see him smiling at you. It is an honest smile, not the like the ones he paints for his parents, and you smile back.

"I love you, Barty," he whispers.

"What?" you croak.

He props himself onto one elbow, presses his face up to yours and whispers again, breath tickling your ear. "I love you."

Love. Love. _Love_.

* * *

You see him less and less as the months pass. The Dark Lord is getting agitated, and you hear rumours of a prophecy, but He doesn't confide in you about such matters. You wonder if He still considers you one of his most faithful. You and Regulus are split up for missions, and group meetings are less regular. He seems shaky when you meet, quiet and fragile. Your kisses still burn with passion, your skin melting with his touch, but his eyes lose their sparkle. You want your star back.

On one of the rare nights when you have managed to be together properly, he lies beside you, staring at the ceiling.

"Barty."

"Hmm?"

"Are you happy with this?"

"With what?"

He massages his eyelids with the heels of his hands. "Us. The Dark Lord. Everything."

The humming silence stretches as you think about his words.

"What is there not to be happy about?"

His hands are clasped together, resting on his forehead, and his arm blocks your view of his face.

"Reggie?"

"Forget about it."

* * *

**BCJRBBCJRBBCJRB**

* * *

He never says it. You say it often, because it is true, because you would burst with the feelings those words contain if you tried to supress them. You love him. You love him and you tell him that. But he never tells you.

* * *

**BCJRBBCJRBBCJRB**

* * *

Tonight, it is almost like he is himself again. His eyes are alive and he runs his hands over your body almost frantically. You wonder why. What has changed? Soon enough, you forget your curiosity, absorbed entirely by the blinding ecstasy that is Regulus.

"I love you."

He says it just as you are drifting off afterwards, just as he always does, kissing your forehead.

You smile and fall into the darkness.

* * *

Something is wrong. You squint as the light streams in through the window, and realise you are alone. You blink groggily and sit up. "Reg?"

There is no reply and you look around the room. His cloak and boots are gone, but there is no residual powder in the fireplace, so he must have Apparated away. You feel cold. This has never happened before. He likes to watch you wake up.

* * *

He doesn't show up at the meeting, he isn't at his home. You search all the places you've ever met up, the cabins, the inns, the parks. He is nowhere to be found. The other Blacks are just as confused as you are, and from the reports of the other Death Eaters, you were the last to see him. Every minute without him drags like nails down a blackboard. You stand in his room at Grimmauld Place, staring at the walls as though you can make him materialise with your will alone. They say he must have been captured by the Order. You hope it is true, because you know they wouldn't hurt him. You hope it is true, because the alternative would be too painful to bear. But you know deep down it is not.

* * *

The weeks stretch on and you are losing your mind. He is gone. He was supposed to stay with you forever. He loved you. You were sure of it. But he left you.

Your pain can't be cured. _He_ was your cure, and he is gone. You try everything. You are vicious with your targets, brutal with your curses, but their screaming can't drown out your grief. You try to rip it out from your flesh, but it is too deep to reach. The war rages on, and no one seems to care about him being missing but you.

* * *

Suddenly, everything comes crashing down, like an avalanche sliding off a mountain, and the world is in an uproar. The Dark Lord vanishes. Bellatrix doesn't treat his disappearance with the nonchalance she had for her cousin's. She is wild. You and the other most faithful servants storm the house of two known Order Members. You hate them. They will pay for taking Regulus. They will pay for defying the Dark Lord. Bellatrix screams for answers, but you are lost to it all. You Crucio the couple into oblivion, watching them spiral into insanity. Further and further they go, pulling you down with them.

* * *

You run. You don't know how much time passes. But he doesn't come back and nor does the Dark Lord. Your oblivious father finally finds out about your allegiance to Him and you are thrown into Azkaban. You hear shrieks, howls that make your heart quicken, but it is only his brother. The other prisoners beat against their cell walls, but you don't bother. The outside world for you is just as bleak as the one here. You are alone. You will never again see the stars.

* * *

**A/N:** I really liked writing this and I would adore reading your reviews :)


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